Disclaimer: The standard applies, and Mrs Schiffer is an OC. She's quite a typical mom. So is Mr Schiffer. Hooray!

…

Chapter 15 – Closer: I

The door opened to reveal an overjoyed Mrs Schiffer, perched on the step with her straw sandals tipped and a leather handbag wheeling on an upturned arm. She was Japanese clearly, with eyes like almonds, fair skin bordering on Ulquiorra's pallidness, and had a petite build. It was easy to see that they were related. Both had an angular narrow jawline sloping to a pointy chin and unrelenting poise to their gazes. Ulquiorra's was a steely green which flashed a specter of bioluminescent shades under lights. His mother's orbs had an auburn shade which made it softer, more compassionate, and a wee zealous. That reminded Ichigo of a certain goateed man back home.

What Mrs Schiffer lacked in height she packed in strength. As would any mother overjoyed to see her child, she lunged—handbag flinging, for her son, her only child, one whom she had not seen for months.

So it went—an unsuspecting Ulquiorra was all locked in an unwanted devastating embrace with his mother. Kudos to him: for holding as still as he should; had he opted to wriggle out of the ginormous hug it might have easily been worse. The offending action; his mother's indefatigable gusto lasted for as long as it could possibly last, before the green eyed actor realized they were being stared at by another. He had to act fast—should his mother jump to conclusions. Mrs Schiffer was greatly prone to doing so, and it irked Ulquiorra. No matter how so she was his mother, such an outcome was not up to him. And he loved her greatly.

Ichigo stood behind him, waiting to be introduced. To say his curiosity was piqued was an understatement. From the time he Googled his co-star he had developed a profound interest in his actual background. Scanty details did nothing for his understanding, and whereas speculation about the known events was one issue, having the facts was another. Ichigo made sure to stay around, and get to the bottom of things. He was a busybody.

"Mother," Ulquiorra greeted, determined to block his co-star from view. But he was shorter, and Ichigo had hair that rivaled a sun's brilliance.

"Mmmm...mmmm," gurgles of approval bubbled from Mrs Schiffer's throat, after she glowingly looked her son up and down. "You've kept yourself in good condition despite your hectic schedule, just that..." her hand shot up to smoothen Ulquiorra's mused hair. "Bed...hair..." she murmured to no one in particular.

"Likewise, Mother," Ulquiorra smiled in return, making pink plumes swirl around him. "The air in Hakodate does seem as fresh as you mention in your mail and calls."

"Of course," Mrs Schiffer capped a hand over her mouth, stifling her giggles like a proper lady. "And this is...?" she arched a delicate brow at Ichigo. "Oh..." she came to a woman's sort of understanding. It was intuition. "Quiqui, you've been rude again!"

"Kiki?" Ichigo laughed boisterously. "You have a girl's nickname? God, KIKI!"

"Oh no," the house reverberated with laughs aplenty. "It's not K-I-K-I. Take the 'Q-U-I' out of 'Ulquiorra' and there you go!"

"Mother, don't call me that in the presence of others—"

"Hello there, young man!" chirped Mrs Schiffer, and dismissed Ulquiorra's protest by dumping her handbag in his hands. "I'm Quiqui's mommy. Nice meeting you, and please call me Mrs Schiffer. I'm a stickler for western tradition."

"Hi, Mrs Schiffer," the orange haired man obliged and gave a short wave. "I'm Quiqui's," he threw his co-star a triumphant sneer, "friend. Ichigo."

Mrs Schiffer squealed. She was no fan of the local entertainment circuit, kept no tabs on it, and probably was one of the dwindling minority who had never heard of the rising star. "Your parents must be really cute to give you a name like that! Now on the other hand, because Quiqui was never a cute kid to begin with, hence his pet name. It makes him sound friendlier and more accessible, yes?"

"Mother—please." Ulquiorra spun away to place the handbag on a table, trying to disguise his embarrassment.

"So you've filled in his available status?" Mrs Schiffer asked enquiringly with large twinkling eyes.

Ichigo became an owl, then a goldfish. "I—what?"

"Don't worry, Ichi-kun. I'm not looking too much into why you're here at my son's place. I was young once, and I understand perfectly," she raised a ringed finger to Ichigo's lips. "Hush. I know, I know."

…

Mrs Schiffer was a firm advocate of home-cooked meals, and expressed underwhelming thrill at Ulquiorra's culinary talents. She berated the lack of recipe books in the house, the shortage of cutlery in the kitchen, the brand new feel of the chopping board, and overall cleanliness a proper kitchen shouldn't have. At each item off her checklist she clucked her tongue in disapproval, then turned to the lukewarm duo and asked a question:

"When making broiled eggs, what should you do first?"

"Boil them in water," Ulquiorra answered while Ichigo was thrown off track by the reply. He actually knows how to make something in the kitchen?

"What kind of water?"

"Plain water."

"Wrong!"

"Salt solution," Ichigo replied. He had done his fair share of cooking at home, hence his relative expertise in the subject. "Home economics 101."

"Excellent showing, Ichi-kun!" Mrs Schiffer gave Ichigo a hearty pat on the back. "I knew you had it in you, otherwise how else would..." her words were met with empty looks from both men, "oh never mind me! Hush. I know, I know."

"Umm...thank you, Mrs Schiffer," Ichigo bowed in gratitude. "And Quiqui, so there's something you don't know after all," he couldn't resist the rare chance to poke fun at the sedate man who saw him as a fledgling actor. "So you're human. That's a comfortable finding."

"It is just an egg," Ulquiorra was stung by the constant jibe at his name. "And, who are you to call me that."

"Based on the fact I'm Kurosaki Ichigo, that's what. Try this method if you don't believe me. Sprinkle salt into the pot of water, then put in the eggs, and let the water boil. Once boiled remove the eggs, and you can shell them. The egg shells can then be peeled off easily."

"Salt?" Ulquiorra questioned. "It does that?"

"Common sense. I wonder what they taught you in high school," Ichigo grinned. He had garnered an one point advantage over the raven haired man. Hooray!

"I passed my examinations with stellar grades. All of them."

"Yes, he did!" Mrs Schiffer chorused. "Top of the batch, and Quiqui couldn't give a speech as class valedictorian on his graduation day because he came down with the flu! Our Quiqui and his interminable bouts of flu! So strong yet so frail. And, young man, know what?" she leaned towards Ichigo and whispered conspiratorially. "The same goes for his emotional state. Armored on the outside, and glassy on the inside. Charming little boy isn't he, our Quiqui! A total enigma!"

Ulquiorra was increasingly exasperated by the prattling of his personal history to someone as unimportant as Ichigo. "Mother."

"Son. Your fridge..." she tossed her son a look of displeasure as she yanked the fridge door open. "What exactly is the purpose of having one when clearly the purpose evades itself?"

"Mother, you know I don't cook."

"That doesn't explain why your fridge is emptier than a black hole, Quiqui!"

Ulquiorra looked sullen. "There are eggs in the tray, and there is milk in the storage cabinet. In the drawer at the bottom there are packets of carrots and potatoes. I have cereal too—ten boxes."

"What am I supposed to do with them? I'd like to make a proper dinner for us, oh," Mrs Schiffer caught Ichigo's eye. "Why don't you stay for dinner too, Ichi-kun?"

"Don't you dare agree," Ulquiorra warningly mouthed to his co-star. "You are to leave at six. On the dot too."

"Sure!" Ichigo feigned ignorance and shunned the countless daggers Ulquiorra sent his way. "I'm kinda famished anyway. I see Quiqui is a fan of hard work and bad quality food."

"Excellent! You must know our Quiqui very well too. I believe I'm starting to comprehend the reason behind him having you around on a gorgeous Friday afternoon. You summed him up in just one sentence! Don't we all love short and terse descriptions, Ichi-kun?" Mrs Schiffer clapped her hands gaily. "Bring out the eggs, Quiqui. Shall we make broiled eggs and stew today, since we're on the topic of cheery little eggs? And Ichi-kun, feel free to stay for the night."

"No he can't—" Ulquiorra burst out despite himself. "He is to leave at six—"

"Quiqui, manners!" Mrs Schiffer frowned at her son, then turned to Ichigo with a dazzling smile. "What do you say, Ichi-kun? Ignore my discourteous boy. I shall send him out on an errand now, just so he won't get in our way, yes?"

The carrot top snorted in agreement and with that, Ulquiorra was unanimously shuffled out the house with a list of groceries to stock up on.

…

Kurosaki Ichigo tended to lead a life of bizarre encounters. He didn't force it. They came straight to him, welcoming or not. Some he understood, some he misunderstood, some he failed to understand altogether. This was perhaps the most incomprehensible incident to date: preparing dinner in a kitchen so unused and clean it might have as well been a showroom model, and the source of accompaniment was none other but the mother of a man who only weeks ago dissed him to stratospheric levels. He was chopping carrots too. Carrots! Chopping sticks of carrots into tiny dices and an array of fanciful shapes.

"You make a wonderful chef, Ichi-kun!" Mrs Schiffer smiled. "Quiqui likes his carrots cute and edible and squishy!"

"What is he," Ichigo returned the smile, his eyes never leaving the chopper. He was attempting to create some star-shaped carrot slices. "A baby? Squishy diced carrots?"

Mrs Schiffer turned on the faucet and filled a saucepan with water, then set it upon the electric stove. "He takes after his daddy in this aspect," she wiped both hands dry on an apron, "imagine the number of carrots the Schiffer household consume on an annual basis! And so the rabbits starve. Did Quiqui ever tell you he had a pet rabbit once? He let it out one day and it scampered away to freedom. Or martyrdom."

Ichigo shook his head, bemused by the rabbit that ran away. "Nothing of the sort. All I know is he has a cat named after the food it eats."

"Sakana-chan! Where is she?"

"Don't know," Ichigo shrugged. "Probably upstairs sleeping."

"Has Quiqui told you how Sakana-chan came about?"

"Err...no?"

"Sakana-chan was a gift from his daddy when he graduated from high school. We went to China prior to that, and Quiqui had his fortune read! You should have seen his face then. He was horrified! It was the most amazing expression I've ever seen him wear. We had many laughs about that, to the point where he tuned us out completely, and, perhaps the singularly most important forecast the old Chinese man made was that an orange something, a living thing for sure, would bring much luck and joy and significance to his life. After we came back to Japan, his daddy surprised him with a ginger kitty on Christmas."

"I see. Orange..." Ichigo scratched his head. Why do I feel a chill running down my spine?!

"Now that I think of it," Mrs Schiffer pursed her ruby lips in contemplation. "The fortune teller's really accurate. Quiqui does have affinity with all things orange, doesn't he?" she gazed at Ichigo meaningfully. "So...how long have you two been together? Can't believe he hasn't breathed a single word of this splendid union! Told you he can be really rude when he wants to, that boy. He should know by now that whoever he prefers doesn't bother me. All he does is keep things to himself and expect mommy to read his mind."

"No, we are not togeth—"

"Young man, don't deny the obvious truth," Mrs Schiffer lectured as she cleared plates of diced carrots into the saucepan. "I may be getting on with age, but I'm neither blind nor deaf."

"I don't mean that, Mrs Schiffer."

"Don't sound so apologetic, Ichi-kun. I was only teasing you," she winked. "Well, since you said you aren't together with my son, then explain why was he out of breath when he picked up my call, and why did I hear another man's voice in the background. Your voice, in fact. And his hair! It is obviously messed up by someone...oh ho ho, what's an old woman like me to ask these questions anyway? Never mind me!"

"We were just—"

"Hush! I know, I know," Mrs Schiffer silenced him with a raised hand. "Tell me more about yourself, Ichi-kun. You seem really interesting, and I trust you have that special ability to capture my son's attention. Oh ho, what am I saying again? Hope you won't mind my rambling and please continue."

Ichigo sighed in defeat—it was rendered impossible a feat to out-talk the Schiffers, and said, "I have a dad who's a big kid at heart, and two younger sisters. Dad works in the hospital and my sisters are now in high school."

"What about your mother?"

"She passed away when I was ten, so..." he trailed off, reluctant to divulge more than what was needed. "Yeah, so, that's about all. Dad's a doctor by the way, and I almost practised medicine too. But I didn't in the end, and became an actor like your son."

"Sorry to learn that, Ichi-kun. But wouldn't your mom be pleased to see what a fine young man you've grown into. I for one already am," Mrs Schiffer cast him a sympathetic glance which gradually changed into forlornness. "Quiqui's daddy was a doctor too, and I was a nurse. Of course I left my job when I got married to him—that was some twenty odd years ago. His daddy was half-German, hence our family name."

Ichigo turned off the electric stove. "How is he like, Mr Schiffer?"

"Was," Mrs Schiffer corrected. "He passed away when Quiqui was nineteen. Anyway," she continued before Ichigo could offer his condolences, "regarding this particular Schiffer, he had to be one of the most industrious and most random man around, that's for sure," the petite Japanese giggled. "The first time we met was due to some error I made! I mixed up some samples in the clinical laboratory—I was out having fun the previous night and my system hasn't recovered yet, and he was the doctor-in-charge for mining the samples' findings. And so," she touched Ichigo's arm lightly, "he came to the nurses lounge, with those icy green eyes and long strides, ever ready to reprimand me. I was ready to scamper at the sight of him, plainly because I was terribly young and heady. I imagined the worst scenario possible: him making me kneel before everyone and apologize profusely. At least I thought he was. But no, he didn't. He didn't smile either—I guess the Schiffers are born with frozen expressions. He simply walked towards me with a stack of papers under his arm, and halfway he tripped over a trolley of samples!

"What a horror it was; those were urine samples! He had a right splash in the puddle and splattered about the ground. Such a pathetic man he was, and since his doctor's robe was thoroughly soaked and none of us nurses wished to get our hands dirty after cleaning the patients' stool, we pretended to be busy with other things. So he looked up at me for the longest time, as if it was my fault, and it really was although I tried to play the innocent card. I couldn't quite tear myself away from his stare, and I didn't understand why. Maybe because I wasn't into the whole falling in love with a lonesome stranger business back then," she sniggered. "Maybe he looked so furious that I felt entrapped in his restrained anger. Then he removed his robe, wrenched it dry with his bare hands and placed it in mine! You must be thinking, 'How gross!', right?"

"Right, definitely," Ichigo chuckled. Suddenly he thanked the people up there, whoever they might be, that made it possible for the same incident to not befall him when he vomited all over Ulquiorra. "Your son has a penchant for tripping over things too," he grinned as he recalled their endless tumbling sessions, then turned scarlet. "What did you do with his robe afterward?"

"Hmmm," Mrs Schiffer drummed her fingers against one another, and leaned against the steel kitchen counter. "In case you're wondering, I didn't burn it, or dump it as I initially wished to. I washed it with lots of soap, and let it dry. After which I took it off the clothesline at the pantry, folded it and went to his research room. It was, I guess, around midnight then, and I figured he wouldn't be around since he worked the morning shift. But no again! When I stepped into the dark room there he was, scrutinizing over the tiniest bit of human whatever—I couldn't see a thing, and on top of his already cramped table lay mountain piles of paperwork. He had sleeves rolled up to his elbows and he just kept bending over, scuttling from microscope to computer and computer to microscope like a busy bumblebee," she released an affectionate sigh. "Can't believe I still remember all of these little details so vividly, even up till today."

Ichigo smiled along with her. "Is that how you and Mr Schiffer got together?"

"Seriously, young man, what do you think I am! A smitten damsel? No! Of course not. As I said, I was more than turned off by his odious attitude, but seeing him so passionate about his work made the heady woman in me swoon a little. So I was there standing in a corner quietly, waiting for him to notice my presence. He was such a thick block of wood—so immersed in his work, and all the while I was peeking at him. So I stared, and stared. He had the most handsome profile I've ever seen, you can measure the bridge of his nose with a ruler and it would be aligned perfectly! And then I began to wonder why hadn't anyone, I mean us nurses, talked about him before. It might have something to do with his height though, and his unnerving walking speed. People get left behind without him knowing, so that's the kind of man I thought he was at first. Turned out I was wrong. Some mornings later he came to the nurses lounge with a file so overloaded that papers threatened to tear apart as he walked, and heaped it onto my desk. Then he left without saying a word! Very courteous of him to do so."

"Sounds exactly like what Ulquiorra would do too."

"They are so alike in their deplorable ways," Mrs Schiffer chimed. "I didn't know what to do with the file, so I went after him, looking very much like a crazy woman on the loose with that humongous object in my hands. I reached his consultation room, demanded for him to tell me what was with the file, whether should I check through some records or just file the older records away. I mean, you have to say something, don't you?"

Ichigo nodded, and waited for her to continue.

"Then," she paused dramatically. "He cranked the file open, and pointed at the clear plastic folder on the bottom flap. Stuck inside was a movie ticket, and when I tiled my head to look at him was then," she halted again, "that I saw how red his face was."

"That's..." Ichigo dug into his mental thesaurus for a suitably polite term. "That's very discreet of him."

"More like old-fashioned!" Mrs Schiffer filled another saucepan with water and sprinkled some salt into it. "And I stupidly accepted his invitation, and after two years, his marriage proposal. Everything was just so...random. Can you believe he popped the question when we were cleaning the laboratory?" she giggled again. "Though he resumed to work frenetic hours, he never forgot to come home for dinners and family gatherings. He had an inscrutable attendance record, and he prided himself on that. After I had Quiqui, he still was as busy as ever, having been promoted to Head of Department, so make that busier than his usual schedule actually, but he remembered all the silly events in life such as birthdays and death anniversaries and of course, our wedding anniversary.

"He would do randomly passe acts such as having a kid deliver a bouquet of roses to the house, or plant items in selective locations at home. I call them 'cheap thrills'. He also brought us around the world some three four times a year for vacations. One year it was Europe, the next it was somewhere in Asia, and the furthest we've been was to Brazil! God knows how he came up with the time and memory—that was the person he was, rotating between family and work, with no time for himself. At home he brought no work back, and played with Quiqui, reading to him, watched cartoons with him, helping out with the chores.

"Unlike Quiqui, he could cook, and what a gifted cook he was! He used to tell me that all he knew was to fill the pot with water and rice and cook it. The rest he learned while he was living in the college hostel and sometimes in the hospital itself. He was the kind of guy who could keep at it for as long as he could, despite countering setbacks. Throw a rock at him and he catches it, then crushes it into meaningless dust. Give him lemons and he will demand for orangeade instead. So when he died, it was entirely a random encounter too."

She heaved a deep breath, and steadied herself against the fridge.

"There was this woman, her husband died a few days after a surgery Quiqui's dad performed on him. It was nobody's fault—when you have to go, you just go. Everyone in the operation theater gave their all and prolonged the man's life, even if it was by just a fraction. That man, bless his soul, fell down the stairs and hurt his head badly, had a skull fracture, blood pooled in his brain excesses, and you know with these things the rate of success will always be extremely low. He could end up a vegetable still, say, if the surgery went through without a hitch. When she and her husband's immediate family signed on the papers they already were informed of the possible outcomes.

"But she wouldn't let the matter rest. I supposed she loved him a lot, and that as an equal I can understand. It didn't stop there. She demanded for compensation, took the issue to the legal courts, and slandered my husband's name as a reputable surgeon. The case lasted for around six months and ultimately, she won. Can you believe it? She actually won! I told myself then, if I ever see her out on the streets she'll never hear the end of it. She might not even live to tell the tale."

Mrs Schiffer calmed herself down by quickly putting some eggs into the boiling water, before poking at the carrot slices with a chopstick.

"As a result, Quiqui's dad, my own husband, had his medical license suspended for malpractice after nearly thirty years of service. It was right at the time where Quiqui was halfway through his first year in college. You know, he signed up for the medicine course just so he could be like his dad. We used to tease him his objective was to marry a nurse—just like his dad too," a rush of wicked humor crept into those hooded eyes. "He wanted to become a stellar neurosurgeon, write acclaimed papers, discover new cures, had numerous great ambitions—the usual a starry eyed boy entering college would have, and those came to an abrupt end."

"Is that why he dropped out of Waseda after the first year?"

"No, not yet," Mrs Schiffer shook her head, making a crown of wavy brown strands sway along. "You see, his daddy and I decided to keep mum the whole lawsuit deal and conclusion, so that Quiqui could concentrate on finishing his studies. It would take years, but for his sake we had to. We got on fine, I watched out for any abnormalities his dad might display in the aftermath, but nothing was out of the blue. So I thought to myself, perhaps the storm had brewed over and we could let this unhappy incident dwindle down to nothing.

"I mean, so what if he couldn't be a doctor anymore. He still had us. Any lesser being could have treated the matter as an impetus for a change of career or early retirement even. And then you look back at the stupefying amount of time and effort he had invested in his work, and what happened thereafter didn't seem as upsetting. He was never one to shrug things off, Quiqui's dad, and given the severity of what happened, even more so. I ought to have known better—me and my blind optimism that everything would be alright in a final analysis. His namesake rapidly grew notorious, and soon all sorts of allegations and failings imaginable were shoved unceremoniously onto his shoulders like a basket of onuses. Never have I seen one whose fall from grace was as tremendous, and the matter blew up.

"Quiqui was preparing for his exams then, and learned about what happened from one of his schoolmates. Yes, it ventured that far. Everyone in the medical field knew except him. From his tone over the phone," she closed both eyes in strained memory, "he sounded not furious, but utterly spaced out in his customarily formal manner. Not the usual blank, almost sarcastic tone the media obtains from him regularly, but a scarier variation. Like a robot wielded control over his soul or something. Mind you I haven't seen him genuinely mad before—oh! The eggs are ready! Ichi-kun, would you?"

Ichigo set the 'Heat' tab to low, then used a ladle to scoop the boiled eggs out and into a bowl. Waiting for the eggs to cool before scraping the shells off, he decided to wash the utensils lying in the sink. He didn't know what he could contribute to the conversation—a strangely inadequate emotion, and mutely held back for Mrs Schiffer to carry on.

"Where was I? Oh, Quiqui being scary. Yes, and he didn't say much, only mentioned he would be on the earliest train come morning. We used to live in Yokohama, and his campus was in Shinjuku, so it took approximately half a day for him to reach home. I was certain the harrowing journey down those scenic outskirts could somehow appease his anger, and judging by the way everything unfolded during dinner, it was set to head in that direction. We had a long chat about it after dinner too, and played a game of billiards. Then Quiqui woke up the next morning to find his dad lying motionless in the car. Such a random probability, right?

"He was worryingly calm about it—everyone else was sobbing buckets and there he was, consoling me in his capacity and who knew what he was thinking then. After the funeral, he went back to school, completed his papers, and filed for termination of studies. He didn't inform me prior to that, and I reckoned he might be angry at me for not being privy to what went on. He said he wasn't, and claimed he wasn't that keen on doing medicine after all."

"It must have came as an absolute shocker to you," Ichigo replied, and immediately he felt like a fool. Duh, idiot.

A brittle laugh popped from her lungs. "Preposterous isn't it, the effect his dad's death has on him. It was instantaneous. I could tell he was afraid—afraid of ending up like his father, and tried to talk him around. Quiqui is someone who never believes in what is unobservable to the naked eye. When he doesn't see something, that something becomes nothing. So when he first caught wind of the license suspension, it was intangible. When we spoke about it, it was still what speaking is about: words. I supposed none of them really hit home until he saw that something for himself. That something, a culmination of what he had missed out on and his dad's anguish, became visible. That something, once stranded in non-existence, became a truth."

Another fathomless release of pent-up breath.

"It goes without saying that I failed terribly. When I suggested he could opt for another course in Waseda, he rejected that as well. He said he would like a complete change of environment, and study in a college where everything was more liberal. I couldn't get what he meant, but there was no way I could stop him. He was adamant on transferring to somewhere far away from medicine and Waseda. So I let him be; I didn't want another dispirited man in the household.

"It was only sometime later that he moved back, and announced he had registered for a psychology major in a nearby college. The journey was a mere twenty minutes bus ride, and he said being in proximity with the college was just a coincidence. I know better, right? It was obvious he was looking out for me, that silly child. He was apprehensive about my well-being, worried how things could swerve awry once more, and probably he reckoned he was behind his dad's sudden passing, albeit indirectly. That he was away in school and wasn't informed of the situation—that what befell his dad wasn't something that could be siphoned with a few words, a scrumptious dinner and a game of billiards."

Ichigo felt shivers pricking his skin as words infiltrated his understanding. "What about the psychology portion? That hardly has any correlation with his current career choice."

"All thanks to a young lady he met in college," a ray of light torched those soft auburn eyes, "she was instrumental in turning Quiqui into who he is today. You see, Quiqui desperately wanted to get to the other spectrum, and when you think of it, his decision was entirely logical. Even with psychology, he still had to work in the healthcare industry and diagnose patients. By then the risk of bearing his dad's future had long been ingrained in him. What sits directly opposite the highly educated and professional job he could have gotten into? The show business! And this girl, she was in the school's drama club, convinced Quiqui to have a try, and during an audition he caught the eye of some big-shot director. He became a professional actor after graduation, and moved to Tokyo after I declared I would be returning to Hakodate, where I picked up on where I left off in the nursing field. Otherwise, knowing that boy, he would never leave Yokohama."

"So..." Ichigo was left a little agape at his co-star's personal history. "That was how he became an actor. I always thought it was extremely odd on his part."

"Things in life don't turn out the way you want sometimes, Ichi-kun," Mrs Schiffer took his hand in hers and squeezed it. "I said a lot, didn't I? It was supposed to be about you, and I bugged you with all these insignificant and dampening stuffs about the family. You are such a nice boy, Ichi-kun. I'm already feeling the connection you have with Quiqui. It goes deep, I know. Quiqui is never one for superficiality."

"No—we are not—oh umm, I should feel flattered that you told me this much. I am after all an outsider," said Ichigo, his hand warm in the other's grasp.

He felt uncomfortable and glad at the same time with the information overload. It was practically an intrusion on the other man's well kept privacy. Now he finally understood the rationale behind his co-star's seemingly wayward decision, and he wasn't sure if his opinion of the man was altered. It hadn't—but who was to say it wouldn't? And knowing Ulquiorra, he definitely would not have it if people edit their perceptions of him when they caught wind of factors contributing to the outcome. Likewise for Ichigo. Both men stood uneasy with sympathy votes cast in their favor.

"Outsider?" Mrs Schiffer chortled. "What outsider? You already are part of the family! Quiqui really is incredibly fortunate to have you."

…

A/N: Lengthy conversations/chapter up there, but hope you guys like it as per usual, and much love for the reviews and reads y'all have given! Am charmed reading them, and...next chapter (Chapter 16 - Closer: II) to be up on New Year. Sadly this chapter isn't Yuletide themed. Oh well! :D MERRY CHRISTMAS!

P.S. Quiqui sounds like Kiki, no? No? Yeah.